


parallels and perpendiculars

by raven_aorla



Category: Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, BDSM, Crossover, Espionage, F/M, M/M, Sherlock AU, mormor, post Skyfall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-15
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 04:49:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/593616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_aorla/pseuds/raven_aorla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>MI6 has become concerned at the growing influence of a faceless criminal mastermind known to some as Moriarty. Meanwhile, surveillance has indicated that a junior member of his organization, a young mathematical and computer genius named Jim, has been picking up a series of intelligent, small, delicately-featured, and dark-haired young men at bars and clubs over the past few months. Q volunteers to take one for the team. </p><p>(In which, at least initially, Q doesn't know he's sleeping with Moriarty himself, Moriarty doesn't know "Quentin" is on the side of the angels, Bond hates every moment of this, Moran gets drunk and angsts a lot, and Eve decides that while she made the right decision perhaps staying in the field would have been simpler.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not my characters. Inspired by the picture below.

It was only logical, was Q's argument.

As this "Moriarty" backed an increasing number of terrorist acts beyond the fraud, extortion, and money-laundering that was previously his specialty, his network had become MI6's business. After months and months of putting some of their best people on the job no one even knew what Moriarty looked like or if he even was a single person. They had managed to identify one of his underlings, finally: a programmer and hacker named James Doyle. Generally went by "Jim". Young. High intelligence - a PhD in theoretical mathematics before he turned twenty-two - but few personal connections. No known family. 

However, he had a habit. A routine. Every Friday night, without fail, Jim would go to a bar and leave with a man roughly his age, and they were always of roughly the same description as himself: slight to the point of waifishness, pale, intellectual, dark-haired.

Actually it wasn't only logical, it was also obvious, Q argued some more. Gaining Jim's trust and carefully collecting little bits of data at a time was a job for someone with high clearance, and no one but Q knew how to operate some of the more advanced bugs and cameras it would be useful to plant on the man's person and around his flat. Four people in MI6 at the appropriate level fit Jim's type, none of them field agents, and two of them were married. The other one worked in Accounting and not Q Branch. 

Eventually M agreed with him, on the provision that at least one double-oh keep tabs on Q at all times and be prepared to strike lethally if Q came under threat. Q requested 007 simply because they'd worked together more extensively than he had with the others. 

Bond said yes through gritted teeth.

....

Sebastian Moran always hid his displeasure when Jim disappeared to his bedroom - while Moran often shared it, he had his own flat a few streets over - and reemerged as one of his many other selves, the bright and charming Jim Doyle, just looking for a night of fun. Though the skinny jeans, Converse, and cardigan did look good on him. Not as good as the Westwood, but the only thing better than his suits were nothing at all.

On this particular night Moran was cleaning and oiling his favorite rifle and pretended he wasn't watching his boss' every move. Jim laughed, damn him, and said in his sweetest voice, "You are so very dashing when you're being jealous, Seb darling. I don't want any evidence of you when I get back. The usual position and instructions until I'm done with whatever boy I bring back."

"Yes, sir," Sebastian replied, wishing he was allowed to shoot those poncey conquests even if they didn't step out of line, even if they pleased Jim and learned nothing and were allowed to go home none the wiser.

....

Q's contact lenses were cameras, naturally. No sense in using glasses that would inevitably come off. For the purposes of this mission his name was Quentin. Wouldn't do if he accidentally answered to "Q" and there was no way to explain it.

Bond said in his earpiece, "I still think this is a terrible idea."

"It is a little surreal, I'll grant you. Usually it's the other way 'round. Have any suggestions?" Q delicately munched on a crisp. The music was a bit loud but the place was clean and the lighting neither too garish nor too murky, and he had situated himself in the most obvious spot on the bar. The other few men fitting the "type" Q was appealing to were earlier discreetly bribed to go elsewhere tonight. 

"It's not exactly a parallel situation."

"Mm." Then he spotted Jim making his way through the crowd. "Hello world."

......

Not much to pick from, tonight, but Jim's annoyance faded when he saw the delightful reedy thing with messy hair sitting alone and staring intently at a bowl of crisps. "May I buy you a drink? If you can tear yourself away," he asked easily, perching on the stool beside him.

Reedy-thing looked at him, startled, but then smiled. "If you like. I was...it's a bit silly."

"Silly can be good. What'll you have?"

"Gin and tonic. Thank you. I was amusing myself by calculating how many crisps of those general dimensions could fit in my kitchen. I don't mean where the food ordinarily goes. I mean if it were floor-to-ceiling."

Jim grinned and signaled to the bartender. "Did you?"

"You interrupted me. It's all right; it was just to keep me occupied until I got the nerve to talk to someone."

(Bond said, "Is that what passes for flirting in Q Branch?")

(Bond said, "That was fairly transparent, by the way.")

(Bond said, "If you get yourself hurt so help me I will never return any of your equipment again just to spite you.")

.....

Moran had been on stakeout, thinking grim thoughts, for forty-seven minutes before Jim's light came on. Jim moved every few months for security, each flat chosen with care, and there was a clear line of sight where Moran could precisely terminate a little tart who didn't play along properly. 

When Jim wanted someone to fuck him, hurt him, he came to Moran. He trusted no one else. Moran didn't feel as gratified as he might have, because he knew that while Jim's trust was incredibly rare, Jim's love did not seem to exist. Jim knew Moran's feelings, the bastard, and used it as another way to get whatever he wanted. Moran felt less like Jim paid him a salary and more like Jim gave him an allowance.

When Jim wanted to fuck someone, hurt someone, he went with this parade of lovers who looked a lot like he might have once, in another life. One where he'd been put together with softness to his edges and warmth to his brilliance. ("Don't take it too hard, Sebastian, you simply can't scream as prettily.")

This time, though, it was...bizarre. This time they didn't go immediately to bed. This time they were sitting and talking, having what appeared to be a lovely time.

Moran hoped when Jim got to it that the young man bled, too.

.....

Q was alarmed at how much he was enjoying talking to Jim, how much the other man happily kept up with him and even amplified his thoughts. But maybe they weren't so different after all. If MI6 hadn't made Q that offer at the right time, who knows who he might have ended up working for? And a lot of these lines between heroes and villains were largely academic...and...and...

It was difficult to think once Jim started kissing him in earnest, playfully grabbing his wrists and steering him about like a puppet. Frankly, it had been a while for Q, and from certain cues in tone and body language he'd learned to read over the years, he thought Jim might be able to give him the sort of thing he wanted.

(When Q agreed to be tied up Bond cursed in several languages with impressive vehemence.)


	2. Chapter 2

Quentin was a treat, the best one yet. Jim became gleeful when his playmate, nicely and securely trussed face up on the bed, had taken the riding crop to his thighs and wooden rod to the soles of his feet not only with endurance but positive ecstasy. His moans at each bite, each bruise and digging-in of fingernails were delicious, the way that smart mouth went slack and sweet lips trembled with incoherence even more so.

"Don't you dare come first, pet." Jim had his left hand stroking the other man, his right hand tugging at Quentin's hair even as his condom-sheathed cock thrust inside him. "Hook your ankles over my shoulders if you can. Good boy."

Quentin was muttering something, even as he shuddered and shook and gasped. Jim realized after a few moments that it was a Fibonacci sequence. When Quentin saw the look of recognition on Jim's face the most glorious, coquettish smile broke through his daze before he started mixing the numbers with endearments and pleading.

When both of them had crested through their respective climaxes and aftershocks, Jim did not immediately let Quentin free, though he fully intended to. For a while he just curled up around him and listened to his heartbeat, thought about all the ways he could stop it if he wanted to, if he felt like it.

"This is a triumph," Quentin said dreamily, sing-song.

Jim laughed. "I'm making a note here."

"Huge success."

"It's hard to overstate my satisfaction..." Jim traced a line down Quentin's flushed and gorgeously marked chest. "Is there anywhere you need to be tomorrow?"

Quentin had a kitten's yawn. Jim wished he could keep it in a bottle to appreciate whenever he wished. "Sadly, yes. Overtime in the afternoon. Would enjoy seeing you again, though."

"I'd like that." Jim set about untying the knots. "If you actually had one of those portal guns from the game, what would you do with it?"

"Hmm. Robbing banks is a bit pedestrian. Perhaps coming up with a more efficient means of travel. Patenting it." Once free Quentin sat up and rubbed his wrists. "Now where did my briefs go?"

That's when a disco beat and the unmistakeable tune of "Staying Alive" filled the room. Jim gave him an apologetic glance and went to answer his mobile. "Yes? What do you want? I'm fine. So deal with it, then." He drifted into another room to continue the conversation in private.

When he returned, Quentin was not only dressed but had also organized the toys in a tidy row. They kissed one more time before Jim walked him out the door, slipping a card with his number and email (well, one of them) into Quentin's hand.

........

Earpieces that were small and discreet enough to pass unnoticed in such close proximity as Q required for the mission could only take one call at a time. So it was up to Bond, both tonight and subsequent nights, to be the liaison between Q and Management while they were on the job.

"Why did you volunteer for this?" Bond asked Eve, to distract himself from all the noises Q was making. He was well-hidden and near enough to the block of flats to rush in if need be, or take a clean shot from his position as long as Q remembered he was supposed to get down and not try anything heroic. The throat microphone picked up his barely audible mumbles and he never needed go so loud as a whisper.

"Because I thought you might have a difficult time coping with one of the few other MI6 agents you like taking the sorts of risks that are usually your area," she answered. "Q's hidden most of the surveillance gadgets around the flat and in Doyle's possessions already. It's not like he's a damsel in distress."

"If a damsel in distress sounded like that I would fear for the knight," Bond muttered.

"Prudishness is unbecoming to you, 007. Speaking of which, I wrangled a day off tomorrow where only M is allowed to summon me to the office, no one else."

"Ah. I'll bring a good wine. I think I'll need it."

"Do you fancy Q? I won't be jealous if you are; it's not like you and I are ever going to be more than coworkers who shag two or three times a month. Ooh, the cameras have very high quality. I didn't know he could bend that way..."

"Is this what you lot talk about when it's me in the field?"

"With you there are betting pools and drinking games among those of appropriate clearance. Not that I told you a word about this."

"Minx."

That's when Bond felt a hand on his shoulder and heard a click against his temple.

......

Moran had spotted the man lurking near the entrance to Jim's building only a few minutes earlier, so well had he secreted himself and blended in. He gave Jim a call to alert him, and at the assurance that the guest had behaved well and was about to leave he felt like he could abandon his post to investigate.

The man was mumbling to someone, though it was too quiet for Moran to make out any of the words. His calm, steel-spined reaction to having a gun to his head spoke volumes. The man had training and no small amount of experience.

"What are you doing here?" Moran asked, steady, meeting cool with cool even if he was in the sort of mood to rip out someone's larynx with his bare hands by this point.

The man replied, "I'm a bodyguard to one of those dot-com billionaire children. He has a private encounter going on in that building right now, and I am making sure it doesn't go too far. There are people who know we're here, by the way. Was just passing on some of his instructions to his secretary."

Moran weighed a variety of factors before deciding on his course. "If I lower my weapon, will you refrain from turning around and shooting me?"

"If you aren't a threat to my employer, that seems doable."

Moments later they were shaking hands. "Sorry about the misunderstanding, Mr..."

"James. Ian James."

"Call me Moran. See, I think my employer may be the very person you're keeping an eye on to make sure he doesn't turn psycho. Cross-purposes all along."

James raised his eyebrows but smiled. "Well, if their paranoia pays our bills..."

"Exactly. Are you ex-military? You have the look."

"Navy. You?"

"Army."

James touched his headset. "Yes? I'll be right there."

"Duty calls, I presume."

"Yes. Care to meet up at a pub or something when we're both free? Haven't had a chance to swap stories with anyone who'd understand since I started working in this business."

"Yeah, yeah sure. Let me write my number down for you." Moran was almost appalled at how eager he sounded.

........

"You look like you've been mauled," Bond said as soon as Q climbed into the car.

"You don't get to act all superior. How many times have you done very much the same thing?" Q winced, afterglow having faded enough to make all his aches known. "Do we have any aspirin?"

"Glove compartment. There's a bottle of water too."

"Thank you."

"Eve seems to have enjoyed the spectacle."

"Long may she be enthralled by it. As long as she doesn't show anyone who works for me and needs to have a healthy measure of intimidation I really don't care."

"Exhibitionism one more thing that gets you hot?"

Q gave Bond a sharp, sleek smirk. "Wouldn't you like to know."

......

"What the hell was that?" Moran growled once he'd shut the door behind him.

"I don't recall giving you permission to speak to me in such a tone," Jim replied, wrapped in a blanket on the sofa and sipping a glass of brandy.

"Sorry, sir." Moran stood across from Jim at attention, feeling a pang at how mellow and content his usually frenetic boss was now. "I should say that I was perplexed at the changes in the standard pattern."

"I decided I wanted him coming back for more. Such a lovely thing; almost as clever as I am."

"The man I went to investigate said he was your guest's bodyguard."

Jim crunched an ice cube between his teeth before responding. "Plausible. When you called me and I left precious Quentin alone for a few minutes he downloaded most of the files on my hard drive onto a USB stick. He had a tiny gadget that brute-force cracked my password faster than anything I knew was possible. I was so impressed at his efficiency that I didn't let him know I'd seen him do it. Don't make faces, Sebastian, unless he's one of the five or six people on the planet better at encryption than I am he's just going to get a slew of viruses for his pains."

"What if he is, though?"

The thought seemed to tip Jim into a state of bliss. He shut his eyes and lounged, wanton, among the cushions, speaking in hushed tones. "Then it will take him a few weeks and oh what games we will play. Cancel the business with that dying cabbie; this is far more interesting."

Great. Just bloody wonderful. A rival crime boss on the scene and Jim being besotted with him. Moran never thought he'd wish a return to Jim's obsession with the consulting detective he'd been stalking of late. "I'm going home if you don't need me any further tonight, sir."

"Run along, Tiger. Befriend Quentin's lion-man if you can manage it. Could be useful."

"Already working on it, sir. Goodnight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Q were quoting "Still Alive" from the game Portal.


	3. Chapter 3

Eve half-expected Bond to want it rough the next day, but instead he came as close to making love to her as he ever had, slow and languid, with diligent care in pleasuring her. Hardly saying a word. He even kissed her goodbye.

She was very worried indeed.

........

Q viewed the first set of surveillance footage from Jim's flat the next afternoon, nestled in bed in his favorite pajamas and sometimes shifting a little, because Christ his arse was sore. He was hardly presentable to appear at the office today, so he had requested a weekend of telecommuting, which M had nobly signed off on without comment.

It appeared as though Jim was not such a little fish in Moriarty's hierarchy as MI6 had initially thought. M would be pleased and Bond most likely livid. This meant Q needed to be careful about getting too attached. Jim might not be a mere punch-clock villain but an actual evildoer. It might not be possible to recruit him to join Q branch like Q was starting to hope to be allowed to do at the end of all this.

........

"Sir, that detective you were keeping tabs on has a flatmate now. They're solving crimes together." Would it be so difficult to just snatch Jim up and cart him off somewhere private with no computers or anything that would allow his infuriating boss to get himself into trouble ever again? But then he wouldn't be himself anymore, not the Jim Moriarty that Moran hated to love so very much.

"How delightful for both of them," Jim said, not looking up from his monitor. "Ooh, ooh, there are records of a lad fitting Quentin's description breaking into Interpol's database on lark, not to blackmail them or anything, just to see if he could. That was five years ago. He disappears from anything I can find just under two years ago. Wonder if the recent tizzy in Milan was him..."

"This seems a bit too good to be true, sir."

"Don't you have a meeting with the big lion-man to get ready for, darling? Hmm...I think next time I see Quentin we'll go out for dinner and dancing first before I bring him here and eat him up. Haven't been on a proper date since Uni."

....

"I don't like how he talks about you," was the first comment Bond made. Q had invited him over to his flat to get another perspective on the footage. Wouldn't do to send him off drinking with Moran without all the data, either.

"I've been objectified before, especially as three years younger than all the others in my class." Q had finally managed to pull himself into some respectable trousers and a button-up shirt, but he knew he still looked thoroughly ravished. He hoped the hickeys on his neck would heal by Monday. "Have any thoughts that are in fact pertinent to the mission?"

"It's going to be a nightmare keeping track of you in a crowd."

"Now you know what it's like. Don't get too soused with Moran."

"I've been holding my liquor since before you were 'being objectified' by scabby-kneed schoolboys."

"You sound rather enthused about the mental image despite yourself, 007."

Bond quickly changed the subject.

........

The rendezvous was at a scruffy working-class pub, and Bond had dressed accordingly even as he longed for one of his usual suits. Moran waved at him from a darkened corner where they would have a measure of privacy. "Hullo, James. First round's on me."

"Much appreciated. I'll have whatever you're having." Bond sat across from Moran, noting the telltale, though subtle, bulges of multiple concealed weapons. He wondered if Moran could see his as well.

Moran did most of the talking as drinks followed drinks, which was fine with Bond even if the man did sound rather pathetic. Jim didn't appreciate him. Jim was always getting himself into trouble and expecting Moran to clean up after. And demanding he do all sorts of things that weren't in his job description. And was a pushy bottom, besides...

At which point Moran, who'd been downing alcohol like his life depended on it, belatedly realized what he'd said and looked horror-struck. Bond reassured him, "No judgment from me, mate. I'm not narrow minded. Don't you have coworkers on your organization you could vent to about these things?"

"Sorry, classified." Moran's tone was desolate. "I think I love him. And I know it's going to kill me."

They didn't leave until the pub was about to close. Bond offered to walk Moran home, which was nearby. The man was wavering as he walked but still quite coherent, only leaning on Bond some of the time. "You going to be all right?" Bond asked.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be fine. Thanks for listening. That's my place just up there."

"Take care of yourself."

Bond was about to turn away and leave when Moran grabbed him by the collar and gave him a hungry, desperate snog. Bond did not reciprocate, but he didn't push Moran away either.

"Want to come with?" Moran murmured.

"Not when you're drunk. Goodnight." Bond knew he would just be a substitute anyway. What was worse, though, was this could apply equally to both of them. God help them all.

.......

"How's my favorite fucktoy?" came the text on Sunday morning, Jim's number.

Q could feel himself blushing, even as he hastily typed back, "I'm doing science and I'm still alive."


	4. Chapter 4

Next Friday evening Jim took Quentin to one of the seven restaurants in London where the majority of the staff were in his pocket (and the rest could easily be dealt with if the occasion arose). So there was no harm in letting Quentin's bodyguard hang around, wherever he was. Seb could even get some dinner for himself rather than constantly watching them, which might make him slightly less grumpy. Jim had the sense to throw his tiger a bone - and a good shag - once in a while.

Neither of them discussed current work, though they did compare and laugh over exploits from younger days. They also griped about the ending of Mass Effect 3, had a deliberately ridiculous mock-argument about the relative benefits of Qwerty versus Dvorak, gave a toast to Alan Turing when Quentin remembered it was some sort of anniversary related to him today, and collaborated on an impressively elegant two-dimensional representation of a tesseract using Jim's leftover string beans. When Jim put a hand on Quentin's thigh Quentin gave him a cheeky smile, slipped one of his feet out of its loafer, and rubbed the foot up and down Jim's shin.

It took a great deal of self-control for Jim to not haul Quentin to home and bed the moment they left, but it was too much fun overriding the man's insistence that he was a terrible dancer. "Follow my lead then, pet. You're good at that."

......

How did Jim know all the lyrics to these horrific pop songs? Though Q couldn't really complain about Jim grinding against him and gazing at him with a heady mixture of fondness and lust, even if he insisted on singing along: "Oh what a shame that you came here with someo-o-one, but while you're here in my arms, let's make the most of the night like we're gonna die young..."

Q couldn't really hear Bond over the comm, thanks to the thump and bass all around them, but as long as Bond could hear him things should be all right. Enough. A week had not been enough to crack Jim's files, but he had enough processing power working on it 24/7 that it would take less than a fortnight total.

"I think I need to rehydrate," Q whispered in Jim's ear when he started feeling a bit dizzy. Jim nodded.

"Eve has blackmailed me into passing on her opinion that you look 'adorkable', whatever that means," Bond said, audible once Q was further away from the dance floor. "Watch your drink. I would hate to have to rescue you from something so banal as a rohypnol dose." 

Q rolled his eyes but he did watch his cup of water carefully. So carefully, in fact, that he didn't initially notice the burly man in a leather jacket approach him. "Care for a dance?" 

"No, thank you," Q said, tossing his plastic cup into a bin.

He found himself grabbed and spun around in a tight grip. "What, too good for me, pretty? You shouldn't be selfish."

"You shouldn't have such a regrettable misconception of how consent works," Q replied. He braced himself for any blow that might come - there would be plenty of time for either Bond or himself to ruin the man's life later.

It was Jim who appeared beside him, though, his voice ice and poison. "They won't find your body for at least ten days and it will only be identifiable by dental records. And that's if you let go of my date right now and don't anger me further."

The man seemed skeptical but he took his hands off Q anyway. "Save me from psychotic little twinks."

"That may be one sentiment you find yourself repeating while you can still think in sentences, yes. I don't like people touching my things." Jim led Q away by the hand and said in an entirely different voice, "Shall we go back to my place now? You've got the most endearing hard-on."

God damn it, he did. How was that for an unfortunate kink? "Sounds good."

Jim dug his fingernails into Q's palm. "Sounds good what?" 

"Sounds good, sir," Q gasped, his voice going up an octave.

......

Bond noticed on the security feed, just before he went to follow Q back to the block of flats, that the man who had pushed Q around was surrounded by four men even bulkier than himself. One of whom gave him a shot that almost immediately sent him into unconsciousness, at which point they carried him away. Everyone at the club turned a blind eye.

"Have someone tracking what happens to him. I won't weep over anything that does, but it will give us an idea of how much influence Doyle has in the network."

"Agreed," Eve said. "Have you and Q considered at all the possibility, improbable though it may seem, that Doyle may actually be Moriarty himself?"

"Yes, and I don't think I have the vocabulary to express how much I hope he isn't."

"This is far more sentimental than I knew was possible from you."

"Not the time, Moneypenny." Bond headed to his car to follow, wondering if substitution was inherently more unhealthy than all his other coping mechanisms, and if Moran would still want him sober.

....

Eve restrained herself from making some popcorn to eat while watching Q's second scene with Doyle. That would have been both disrespectful and cliche. She was intrigued by the expert caning, though, and the creative use of a glowstick.

When Q was reduced to a whimpering mess, but notably still hadn't used his safe word, Doyle cuddled and kissed him into calmness before penetrating him. "I'm so proud of you, pet. You're so good for me. So sweet and lovely and good for me."

......

It was three in the morning when Moran was starting to think about popping a pill, as he was getting very bored with this Clint Eastwood marathon. After Jim had parted ways with Quentin he'd felt like ants were crawling under his skin.

Then there was a series of knocks on his door. Morse code. J-A-M-E-S.

"I can't sleep either," the man said once Moran let him in.

"Care for a drink?"

"No. But thank you." James stared at him expectantly.

So Moran, hating to disappoint, shoved him against a wall with a snarl. James growled back, their mouths not so much kissing as clashing, cocks rubbing against one another's, their anger and desperation burning through both.

They didn't end up fucking - there would have been too much of a battle for dominance - just kept biting and grappling and rutting until at some point they were mostly naked and sprawled side-by-side on the floor. Both seconds away from coming.

"You're thinking of him, aren't you?" Moran asked. 

"Like you're not thinking of yours," James replied, all in a rush, before giving Moran a tug that sent him over the edge. He followed soon after.

"What's wrong with us?" Moran asked in the ensuing exhausted quiet.

"Too much." A pause. "I have to go now."

"So soon?"

"Sorry. That's my style. Get some sleep if you can."

By the time James was dressed and gone Moran had passed out, still sprawled on the carpet. His dreams were not happy ones.


	5. Chapter 5

The following Monday, Eve traveled down to Q Branch as soon as official hours began to deliver her news personally. It seemed only right. She hoped Q wouldn't take it too hard.

The Quartermaster was already busy at his desk, his mug of tea untouched, suggesting that he was close to some sort of breakthrough. "Ah, Eve. I have discovered a password that should speed up the decryption of Jim's files considerably."

"You can do that?"

"It's complicated, but yes. It's 'CarlPowers@8'. I'm running a search to find the significance, if any, at the same time..."

Eve said, gently, "Q, I think maybe you should pause for a moment and listen to what I have to say."

Q looked at her with a distressing lack of suspicion. "What is it? You look concerned."

"We found the man who accosted you at the club, about ten hours after he disappeared from it. By then he had been thoroughly beaten, castrated, had the tips of his fingers severed, and had his tongue cut out. The men responsible have claimed after extensive questioning by our very best that they were told Moriarty had given the order but they have no idea what Moriarty looks like or anything else about him, nor do they have any idea why they were given the order. Not that they cared at the time."

Thin-lipped and pale, Q said quietly, "That doesn't look good. But it's not definitive proof."

"I know, but you have to be prepared..."

Of course, because the universe does sometimes have a sense of dramatic tension, at that moment an electronic 'ding' sounded to indicate success. Q turned to view his numerous screens. And gasped. Over his shoulder, Eve could see numerous chat logs, schematics, notes, payrolls records, and a plethora of other damning evidence unfold. Q's already-white face was near-translucent by now. "Oh God. Oh God."

"Q..."

"He was Moriarty all along."

"Q, love, breathe. Be sure to breathe."

"I'm not a child, Moneypenny!" Then he remembered himself. "My apologies. I shouldn't have snapped at you."

"You're under a lot of pressure," Eve said in what she hoped were soothing tones. "I need to call a meeting with M and 007. I'll let you know when to join us, all right?"

"Yeah, yeah, okay," Q said. He looked like he might topple over any moment. "If you could shut my office door behind you and hang the 'Do Not Disturb Unless Fate of World is At Stake' sign on the doorknob, I would appreciate it."

"Of course," Eve said, giving his shoulder a squeeze. He remained rigid and she hoped he wouldn't go into some sort of shock on them.

.....

"Sorry for the delay," Mallory (Bond still couldn't think of him as 'M', no matter what he said aloud) told the three of them thirty-six minutes later as they gathered in his office. "I had an unexpected, extremely high-ranking visitor."

"That gentleman with the umbrella?" Eve asked. "I didn't get his name."

"He would have politely declined to give it if you had requested him to do so. Appropriately enough our conversation concerned the recent Moriarty intelligence."

Q was eerily silent and still, and Bond had the most frustrating and uncharacteristic urge to wrap his arms around him and never let him go. "If I may give a very strong suggestion, sir?"

"Yes, 007?"

"I don't think Q should meet him again, now that we know who he is. Instead I think we should bring Moriarty in immediately."

Mallory sighed. "My own professional judgment and personal feelings on the matter have been rendered irrelevant. I have received strict orders for us to not yet alert Moriarty to our discovery until we can be sure Q has taken full advantage of this...fascination....the man has for him. Apparently certain people lack confidence that we can capture and interrogate him with the same effectiveness as we can manipulate his obsessions."

"How can we be sure of that?" Bond asked, knowing he was risking insubordination but not caring anymore. "When Moriarty has done something irrevocably horrible to him? How can you justify the possibility of losing MI6's greatest asset?"

"This does seem somewhat ill-advised, sir," Eve said.

"Frankly, just between the four of us, I agree with you. But my hands are tied when I receive demands from somewhat so much further up in the British Government."

"Excuse me," Q mumbled.

"Yes?" Mallory prompted, not unkindly.

Q's words were slow and deliberate. "I think I would welcome the opportunity to meet him at least one more time, sir. 007 can be ready to either intervene himself or call in reinforcements should there be an issue."

"Can I at least kill him and his associate if I deem it necessary...sir?"

Mallory gave the field agent a ghost of a smile. "If you assess the situation as causing immediate, acute risk to the Quartermaster's life and welfare, then I don't think anyone can or will blame you. At least I won't."

......

Moran would have stormed into Jim's flat if he could have gotten away with it. Instead he entered with his customary deference. "You agreed to meet with him again?"

Jim put a finger to his lips and wrote on a pad of paper, "I FOUND CAMERAS. I'VE REPROGRAMMED THEM TO SHOW AN EMPTY ROOM ON A LOOP BUT I THINK SEVERAL BUGS REMAIN. HELP ME."

A while later, they were reasonably sure they had all the bugs in a heap, Jim picking them apart with tweezers. They continued to pass notes back and forth rather than speak aloud, though, just in case. "THIS IS VERY ADVANCED," Jim scribbled. "IN FACT ONLY ONE AGENCY I KNOW WOULD HAVE THE FUNDING FOR SUCH SHINY TOYS."

"WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO?" Moran wrote back.

"PLAN EPSILON. THIS IS GOING TO BE FUN."

.........

"I'm glad you could have me over on such short notice," Quentin said, curling his hands around the teacup he'd been given but noticeably not drinking from it. "I hadn't expected my request for leave to be approved, but I suppose they decided they owed me."

"Well, it's my pleasure," Jim replied, running fingers along Quentin's jaw, enjoying the way it made the other man's eyelids flutter and his breath catch in his chest. "I often don't go into the office for days at a time; you can do so much from home with a computer these days. As you know."

"Mm, yes." Quentin stared into space for a moment. "It occurs to me I never actually asked you where you work."

"You never told me about your actual occupation either, pet. Is there any particular reason to start now?"

Quentin must have heard Moran emerge from the bedroom, as he turned to look and sounded alarmed. "Wait, who is this?"

Jim giggled. "Playing dumb doesn't suit you, Quentin. Or should I be calling you 'Q'?" Then he leaned forward and plunged the syringe he'd had hidden up his sleeve into his playmate's upper arm. The fright on his face was a sight to behold as he fought against the unconsciousness, truly it was.

........

Q awoke curled on hard, damp tile, his right ankle chained to a ring jutting from the wall and his hands cuffed behind his back. His contacts were gone and he was wearing nothing but a dressing gown. 

Jim sat across from him within arm's reach on a padded folding chair, and he now wore a crisply tailored suit. His assistant, Moran, stood beside him with ill-concealed satisfaction. "Seb was right; having you be in the same business as me was a bit too good to be true. Ah well. MI6 is exciting enough; didn't know I'd attracted such illustrious attention. I'd say we were sorry that we had to strip you before spiriting you away, including that cunning little radio in your ear, but I'm really not at all sorry."

"I have a lot of influence at MI6," Q said. "I could get them to cut a deal with you."

"You're a sweet one, but I always knew that at least. I knew that bit wasn't acting." Jim ruffled his hair. "Shrinking back, are we? Thought I was good enough for you earlier. And you're hardly one to put on airs. I wouldn't be surprised if your indirect body count was even higher than all of mine combined."

"It's...different..." The light was too bright and even with the borrowed clothing Q was already shivering with cold. 

"I'm sure we'll have enthralling discussions where you attempt to justify that distinction to me. I won't be making any deals with the government, pet. I'm offering you a choice. It's more than most people get and you should be grateful I find you so amusing. I even like you so much I'll let you reconsider if you refuse; more than once! This is unprecedented and makes you very special indeed." As if to drive the point home Jim pressed a kiss to his forehead. Q didn't resist. "Now listen carefully. No matter what happens we're faking your death and you're going to disappear even more than my real self has. I'm keeping you whether you like it or not. If you cooperate and work for me willingly, your rooms will be pleasant and I'll do my best to make you happy short of letting you go. No one will be allowed to touch you but me. I'll respect your safe word and everything."

"What happens if I refuse?" Q asked.

Jim grinned. "Then you'll be on a tight leash indeed, and both myself and Sebastian get to play with you whenever and however we want. Seb doesn't like you nearly as much as I do. He's been itching to get his hands on you...haven't you, darling?"

"Yes, sir," Moran replied.

Q shut his eyes but didn't hesitate for more than five seconds. "I'm sorry, Jim, but no."

Jim pouted but showed no surprise. "I expected as much the first time I asked. Have at it, Seb."

From a bag next to Jim's chair Moran extracted a ball gag and forced Q's jaw open so he could strap it in. "I've been thinking of all the ways I can wreck that skinny body of yours," Moran said, undoing the dressing gown's sash and pushing the cloth over Q's shoulders despite Q's feeble struggles. 

With a hum, Jim admonished, "Don't cry, pet, you should have known I was never going to love y-"

The gunshot that interrupted him left a neat hole in Jim's forehead.

Q was the tiniest bit glad for the gag, as screaming would have been even more humiliating.

Though his eyes went wide, Moran did not release his grip on Q - in fact, he tightened it. "James, or whatever your name is, come one step closer and I'll snap his neck."

"Bond. James Bond," 007 said without his usual swagger. "I suppose you are in a position to if you really felt like it."

"I'll do it, Bond. Then what good will your crush on him do you?"

A part of Q started at that, but so much else was going on he filed it away for later. 

"Jim Moriarty is dead, Moran, if you would care to look over your shoulder." 

"You think I don't know?" 

"I think you haven't considered the implications. Because if you do snap Q's neck - if any more harm comes to Q, in fact - I won't kill you. I'll call in the team waiting outside. We'll bring you in and keep you in a cell where there won't be anything even you could use to commit suicide. It'll even be padded to keep you from banging your head against anything. And over the weeks and months and years we'll make you betray him, no matter how hard you try to hold out. His legacy will crumble because of your weakness. When we finally let you die, after all your grieving and regrets have turned you into a shell of a man, you'll know that not only did he not give a damn about you or how much you cared but you were also his greatest downfall anyway."

Moran breathed in, breathed out. He let go of Q, letting Q slump forwards and nearly collapse. He put his hands above his head and turned around slowly. "Do it."

"Move a little further away. I don't want your blood getting on him."

Obeying, Moran whispered, "Thank you."

"You sad, sad bastard." And Bond kept his bargain.

When Bond knelt to get the gag, cuffs, and chains off Q, the young man said the moment his mouth was free, "I won't tell anyone you showed him that mercy. As far as I'm concerned you stormed in and immediately shot both."

Bond nodded and pulled Q into an embrace. "I'm sorry it had to end this way."

Q clung to Bond in return. "I know. So am I."


	6. Epilogue

It was more than seven hours later before Q managed to get home, with three day's leave and instructions to report for a psych evaluation when he returned. After their debriefings Q had asked Bond if he'd mind coming with him. "I'd rather not be by myself."

Now he stood on his small balcony, waiting for Bond to finish using the lavatory. He wasn't sure what he had to say to him - the journey here had been in silence.

He found himself singing in a wavering, thin voice, "So I'm glad I got burned: think of all the things we learned for the people who are still alive..."

"I'm fully aware it's not on the same level," said Bond behind him, "but I imagined I looked something like that when I lost...well, I assume you've read the relevant portions of my file. Even if you weren't supposed to."

Q made a noise of assent, returning inside. He let Bond put a hand on his shoulder, feeling warmth radiate from it as it lingered, and settled in the chair Bond pulled out for him. "She was a good person being manipulated, though. Not a powerful psychopath."

"No argument from me."

"Did you ever sleep with Moran?"

Bond didn't bother lying. "I wouldn't call it that. We had a moment. It was very much about proxies. And about who I might have been, given different circumstances."

"Yes." Q examined a bite on his wrist from Friday that still hadn't faded. "If I chose to, if I took the time, I could easily find a Dom who suited me just as well or better. And I'm not one of those who sneers at vanilla, either. But I thought Jim Doyle was someone who could really understand me. A true friend. Turns out Jim Doyle never existed."

"Is there something I can do for you?"

Q looked up at him and his voice was barely audible. "I could do with some tenderness for a change. Not necessarily always, but tonight." He wasn't worried about Management chastising them; if they remained discreet and stayed competent Q's irreplaceability gave them a lot of leeway. Beside, Eve was neither jealous nor hypocritical.

"I think I can manage that," Bond said before kissing him softly, slowly, on the lips. "Some other time I might have to reprimand you for all the heart attacks you nearly gave me."

"I'm sure that will be lovely," Q replied. He squeaked as Bond picked him up bridal-style and carried him to bed.

"Would you prefer I tossed you over my shoulder? Don't eat your cake all at once."

"So to speak," Q replied as Bond placed him on top of the covers and began unbuttoning his shirt.

"So to speak," Bond agreed. "Let me know if you want anything different or stopped."

"Don't be - don't be like him. And forgive me if I get emotional."

"Of course." Bond continued to undress Q slowly, touching and reassuring him all the while. "I've got you."

Q kissed the tips of Bond's fingers, one by one. "I know."

.......

Bond awoke in darkness, but soon adapted to see by the light of various electronic devices charging in different parts of the room. Q wore nothing but Bond's shirt, for all the world like he was some girl borrowing her boyfriend's clothing, and was checking his mobile.

"Must you do that now?" Bond murmured.

"Just settling down after a nightmare," Q replied. "Hm, a voicemail. Usually people text me."

Bond hadn't felt a strong need to hear the message, but he smiled a little when Q put it on speakerphone for him. A rich baritone voice announced, "This is Sherlock Holmes. My brother told me you have information on the Carl Powers case. If you actually do and this isn't one of his schemes or something, call me back as soon as possible and for God's sake don't be boring."

"What a bizarre name," Q mused. "I wonder by 'brother' if he means that man with the umbrella."

"That can wait until daylight, surely." Bond held out a hand. "Come back to bed."

Q slipped out of the shirt and folded it before climbing under the covers. "Have you ever played any computer games? Good ones, I mean. There's one called Portal that you might like."

"Perhaps. Assuming I ever manage to disentangle myself from you." Bond gathered Q closer to him, their limbs slotting against each other's like this is what they'd been intended for all along.

"Might be too late for that." Q may or may not have mumbled something about "companion cubes" as he drifted off.

"Definitely too late for that," Bond amended sleepily before following him.


End file.
